


The Milk is Never Free

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, POV Second Person, Sex as a Commodity, Teen Pregnancy, aroromantic rowena macleod, not that that's what Ro's doing, principle is the same, support sex workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Your gran tells stories about witches-- wild women, powerful enough to cause the crops to fail, to catch a babe or lose it, power of life and death and so much besides. She tells them as warnings, but what they are is temptations. Power is what you want, and if you have to kiss the arse of Lucifer himself to get it, well, there are worse things whispered about in the kitchens and barns of the village. Still, you kiss any boy willing to teach you to read a bit, to better understand the power in the Devil’s book.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	The Milk is Never Free

**Author's Note:**

> I'm assuming if you're reading this you know, but just in case: teenagers have sex. Rowena, as a teenager, has sex in this fic. It's not graphic, is consensual, and she's pretty indifferent about it, but hey, it exists.

You’re fifteen, scraping the hair off hides when you catch the young lord’s eye. Fifteen and straight and proud. You don’t have a beau, although your parents have been negotiating with one of the farmers. William is nice enough, you suppose, a bit of a stuffshirt, but you think he’ll probably make a good enough husband. You don’t expect much of him, but you don’t expect much of any man.

(Your gran tells stories about witches-- wild women, powerful enough to cause the crops to fail, to catch a babe or lose it, power of life and death and so much besides. She tells them as warnings, but what they are is temptations. Power is what you want, and if you have to kiss the arse of Lucifer himself to get it, well, there are worse things whispered about in the kitchens and barns of the village. Still, you kiss any boy willing to teach you to read a bit, to better understand the power in the Devil’s book.)

The young lord finds you after services, finds reason after reason to come to your tiny village-- several hours ride from his grand manor. All through the spring and summer and well into autumn. Same as with the other young men around the village, he thinks he can trap you with sweet words and this time… this time you listen to his offer.

By now you’re well beyond reading the Bible, which is just as well, because he’s asking for more than the occasional kiss in the fields. But you’re clever and know what being able to read a contract is worth, and are on good terms with Sarah the midwife besides.

(The witches in Gran’s stories never suffered these indignities. Kissing an arse in exchange for all that power? Easily done. The touch of the young men around the village? Less easily done, but you got what you needed out of it. Your skin nearly crawls away as he pulls you into the barn after the dance, but you struck a bargain. 

He’s not gentle-- has never needed to be gentle with anything in his life-- and chuckles as he pulls his breeches back on after. “The roads will be impassable soon.” You take it as the dismissal from his care it is. He won his conquest and no longer has any use for you. You see him once more, at the birthing the next autumn, where he stares at you in disgust before fleeing back to his grand manor and fancy new wife.)

Reading isn’t the only thing you’ve learned, and Sarah was only the beginning. But you learn, when the child is ten summers old, the limits of what you know versus the limits of the law. The mob forms when you save Mary’s babe-- wretched thing though it is-- and you leave, abandoning everything for an uneasy alliance with a tinker until you reach southern England and from there, France and the Germanies. 

You don’t look back. You’re still young and pretty, but you know what to trade for what you need. Most of the time, it’s a season or two of handing out basic herbs and potions, relying more on midwifery Sarah taught you than your other skills, but sometimes…

You stretch yourself, little by little, learning everything you can from any woman who’ll teach you, every unsure slip of a housewife, the mothers and grandmothers who are known for their charms, the midwife who can make sure the fields never need to lie fallow for years, their villages never starve.

Years spent in study with other witches, trading knowledge and spells. _This_ transaction doesn’t cause a gaping ache in your belly the way some of the others do-- knowledge for knowledge, instead of knowledge for… you.

Until they kick you out. Too grasping they say, too interested in your gran’s stories, in power for power’s sake. _Too interested in never being a scared little girl again_ , they don’t say, but mean.

(The first demon approaches you that night, as you huddle under a bush, wrapped in a cloak, bringing news from across the world, offering you all the power you want if you’ll make your mark in his book, kiss him. You’re sore tempted, of course you are, cold and hungry as you are, but you’ve stayed young and beautiful for decades on the strength of your own power, hard won though it has been. Powered borrowed from a demon is no power at all. 

You banish him with a word and travel east.)

Oskar is the first in… years, to show you any kindness, as he walks the boundaries of his father’s farm, sharing his bread and hard cheese with you before bringing you home to his mother. You’re ready to give her whatever she wants-- charms, spells, knowledge, your own body-- if she’ll let you warm yourself by their fire for a few hours, even more if she’ll share her food with you.

She asks for nothing? Brings you more bread and a bowl of porridge, and another bowl of warm water to bathe with. Sharp eyes watch you, but she doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything, so you brace yourself-- for when Oskar returns to his chores, for when her husband returns, for the change that you feel in the wind.

(Somehow, you don’t anticipate the change being Oskar getting kicked by the cow. An everyday injury that goes terribly wrong-- his belly swells, coughing up blood with a dangerous hiss as he breathes. It’s the work of three nights to heal him, fighting your nature every step of the way, while his frightened parents pray and ask the priest to come. 

Magic beats God’s will, _you_ beat God’s will, and he’s already looking better by the time the priest arrives. The priest makes his expectations clear all the same and you follow him, meekly, from their plain cottage to the village, into the priest’s house. It isn’t the first time you’ve used your body to avoid death, nor the last. You don’t know what all the fuss is about, but power is power, by magic or between sheets.)

And now, centuries later, here you are. In a tiny town that had its heyday sometime while you were hiding in Greece, in a country that didn’t come into existence until nearly a century after you were born, staring a young man (they’re _all_ young men, except for the angel) who just…

“I’m sorry?”

Samuel bites his lip, stepping backwards. “Never mind.” He turns to flee, back into this dank hole they call a Bunker, while you stay, shell shocked, at the table, sipping the tea he’d brought you.

“Samuel, I don’t-- It’s not a good idea.”

“Right. Of course. I just thought-- You don’t owe me an explanation.” He sighs, looking anywhere but you. “Another time, maybe.”

“How do you feel about sex magic?” you ask, boldly, and the part of you that’s forever that scared little girl is _screaming_. “Well, gathering.”

“That’s not what I had in mind…”

Taking a sip of your tea, you wait. He’ll come around, they always do, and having a partner really will make gathering the energy for the next spell easier. 

He’s a friend though, the first one you’ve had in forever. “What _did_ you have in mind?”

“It’s Valentines day? So I was thinking driving into Kansas City for some supplies you might need and having a nice dinner? But we can do your thing too-- I know you’re not really into the whole ‘romance’ thing.” He’s such an adorable moose, trying his damnedest to not intimidate you or force you into doing something you don’t want… well, now anyway.

You think about it for a long moment before nodding. It’s a good day to get out of here, away from the other two love-sick morons chasing each other through the halls in whatever the mating habits of angels and hunters are. “Sounds lovely, actually. And I’m not, but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth sitting through a good dinner for.”

Standing, you pat him on the arm before slipping past him towards your room so you can change. “Samuel? Flannel is not included in my definition of a ‘nice’ dinner.”

He chuckles before turning to follow you. “Of course.”


End file.
